by L. L. Muir
Even if he could see past her daft hats, she had tied silk stockings about her head, perchance to keep her ears warm, as if she did not know they were meant for a woman’s legs. But from the look of her, perhaps her legs were far too large for the stockings to fit. Poor thing.
But he had enough to worry over with the child. He would not take on another responsibility and this one with perhaps a broken mind. Why, he would never be able to allow her near the bairn!
“Nay.” His tone offered no invitation to argue.
The woman frowned at him, confused.
“Nay,” he said again, looking pointedly at her head.
Her eyes flew wide and both hands made quick work of the odd hats and stockings. She hid them behind her back and blushed a deeper shade of red beneath her cold cheeks.
“I crashed into the water,” she said. “I came very close to freezing to death. I promise you I’m not an idiot. And I don’t usually go around with underwear on the top of my head.”
Underthings? Truly?
He took his imagination in hand and concentrated on other details. Her speech was strange. Clearly foreign. She looked past him, trying to peek inside his home, and his heart tripped. Had he just been presented with a pair of thieves?
The lass turned about her, no doubt looking for her cohort’s support with her storytelling, but the man had scurried away. When she gave Heathcliff her back, he took advantage.
“Away with ye now,” he said, then shut the door. She would have no choice but to get back in her carriage and move on to the next town.
“Wait!” Her cry was barely discernible though the heavy oak, but again, he was forced to open it, to stop her from waking the child.
“Shh!” He gave her his fiercest frown. “Madame. Ye will climb back into yer...”
But the carriage was gone.
She pointed to the place it had been only a moment before. “He left me! He just...left me,” she repeated. “I didn’t even hear him go!”
It had to be a ruse to ensure she got inside the castle. No doubt the man would be back in the wee hours of the night to help her load up what booty she might pilfer whilst the household slept. It gave him only a moment’s pause that he, too, had taken no notice when the four-in-hand had departed. And there were no tracks by which to judge, thanks to snow falling even heavier now than when he’d first opened the door.
“Please, sir. Can I just come in and get warm? And use your phone? There has to be someone willing to come get me and take me to a hotel.”
Ah, she had a clever tongue. He knew not what a phone was, but there was only one Inn in the village and she likely had passed it on her way up the hill. She needed only lie down on the road and slide her way back. She looked to have enough heft to keep her warm along the way. And even if she was of sound mind, he’d not allow a sneak thief near any child, his or not.
“I’ve a child in the house, madam. I’ll not allow a woman of yer sort around a child. Now be on yer way. There is an Inn at the bottom of the hill, as I’m certain ye know. If ye but stumble and fall, ye will find yourself very near its door. No doubt yer coachman awaits ye there.”
Her mouth dropped open and lingered while he stepped back to shut the door again. But it struck something—an odd red boot stuck just inside. Worrying he might have harmed the woman, he opened the door yet again and found genuine worry on her brow. She gave no attention to her foot. At least he’d not caused her pain.
“Please. I’ll die out here. I’m not the type to beg, but I’m begging you now. Please. I have to get warm. I nearly froze to death once tonight, and I’m absolutely sure I’ll end up a popsicle on your doorstep if you leave me out here.”
Popsicle sounded ominous. And despite his sure knowledge that she was up to mischief, he could not assign the shake of her form to acting. The lass was freezing, no question now. If her coachman showed his face again, Heathcliff would see to it the man paid for putting a woman’s life in such jeopardy, no matter her character.
He tried to ignore the fact that by closing his door against her, he’d done the same.
“With all the opening and closing, I’ve likely fanned all the heat from the castle, but ye are welcome to what is left of it.” His speech was a bit gruff, but she need not know that he was unhappy with himself more than her.
He was a gentleman and a Scotsman, but betimes he couldna manage both at the same time. At the moment, he was simply a Scot learning how to protect his new child, albeit a half-grown one.
She gave a little thank you as she hurried past him and into his home. Once he’d secured the door, he turned to find her shaking in an altogether new manner.
“Come with me,” he said, then took up the candle and led her down the corridor to the garderobe. She clearly needed to relieve herself and might have suffered an accident had she been forced to wait any longer. He placed the candle inside the door and stepped back, but he would not go far. As she closed herself inside the tiny room, she was enjoying the only privacy she’d be allowed while beneath his roof , and as soon as she was able, out the door she’d go.
Nothing was important but the child’s safety and whether or not he was imagining things, he felt it best the child not be exposed to his questionable guest.
He shuffled his feet on the stone floor to mask the rustling sounds the woman made. Truly, he’d never before stood about listening to a woman performing her necessaries, and it took a bit of creativity shuffling to keep his imagination from joining in. However, when the lass began greeting, even quietly, he panicked and hurried back to the parlor. Better to lose a few baubles to sticky fingers and be done. Dear Lord, but he was no help to a weepin’ woman.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bree hoped the rest of Scotland had indoor plumbing! Of course she was in a castle and maybe running pipes might be something the owners couldn’t afford, but the bathroom was just a step up from an outhouse, really. She wouldn’t complain, though. Her bladder had thawed out with her first lungful of warm air and she’d needed the closest bathroom possible. Thankfully, the potty jig was internationally understood and he’d acted quickly. If she’d been wearing just one more layer of clothing...
After her most desperate need was taken care of, however, the insanity of the situation hit her and she’d fallen apart. She was lucky she wasn’t dead. Very lucky she wasn’t very dead. And it looked like the nightmare wasn’t over yet! She’d been dumped on someone’s doorstep who didn’t want her in his home, and if she pissed the guy off, he was grumpy enough to kick her out into the cold again! She didn’t have a nice safe car in which she could set up camp. She didn’t even know where she was, exactly—only that she had to still be in Scotland or Laird Gorgeous wouldn’t have had such a lovely brogue.
But ye are welcome to what’s left of it.
She’d tried to cry quietly, since he’d been just outside the doorway. In the end, though, she must have scared him away, since the hall was empty when she came out.
Bree followed the warmth into a living room just off the vaulted entryway. The ceiling was lower there and the heat from the ornate fireplace filled the room. Of course she’d never been in a castle before. She planned to visit lots of them before she had to take her return flight home. But right then, survival was a little more important than chandeliers, mahogany walls, and carved staircases. But just barely. Hopefully, she’d get a chance to appreciate all of it before Laird Gorgeous kicked her to the curb—probably first thing in the morning.
Hopefully, not before then.
She promised herself she wouldn’t say something stupid that might piss him off, but the guy was strung a little tight. Who knew what might upset him? Hurrying over to the fireplace and dropping to her knees bought her a little time for the swelling to come down in her face. Her hands were warming up nicely, but he didn’t need to know that. Maybe the colder she looked, the longer he’d let her stay. Her nap in the carriage had been toasty, but the second she’d been in the open air again, it seemed like the
temperature was half as warm as it had been when she’d done her little fashion show in the middle of the road.
There were plenty of coals, but the pile was meager. The guy was probably on a tight budget, trying to keep his castle open and running. And until she’d arrived, he’d probably only needed to warm himself. But he’d said there was a child there too.
“You said you have a child, trying to sleep?”
He just frowned, like he was telling her to mind her own business. He probably hated Americans or something, and she didn’t want to make it worse, so she thought she’d better explain herself.
“I just wondered why the kid isn’t in here, if this is the warmest room, you know?”
His frown slowly morphed into horror. “Think ye she is cold? I had not considered!” And with that, he ran from the room.
The look on his face made Bree sick to her stomach. Had he left his child somewhere cold? What kind of man did that? She ran out into the hall and listened for his footsteps.
Upstairs!
She followed quickly, trying not to imagine the worst, trying to enjoy the beautiful piece of wood used for the banister without slowing down. Pins and needles pricked at her feet again, but she took that as a good sign they wouldn’t need to be cut off or something. A little while before, she hadn’t been so sure.
She found him kneeling by the side of a bed pressing the back of his hand to a pale little forehead framed by blond braids. Or maybe she only looked pale—a single candle next to the bed caused more shadows than light. He clutched a little hand in his and patted it.
“Cherub? Cherub. Can ye hear me, Cherub?” He looked over his shoulder, his eyes pleading with Bree to help him.
How could she refuse? It wasn’t like Mrs. Gorgeous was around, and Bree did work with children on a daily basis. She hurried to the bed and he shuffled to the side to give her room. She touched the little forehead and her heart lurched. The little girl was cold. Cold cold.
“Maybe it’s just her exposed skin,” Bree said. “It’s not like the room is as cold as it is outside, right?” She patted the icy little face.
A giant lump rose in her throat, but she just kept talking, to keep everybody calm. Colbys did not panic.
“Has she been ill? Has she been eating? Drinking?” Bree couldn’t resist any longer. To check for a pulse, she pressed her fingers to the little neck no bigger around than her forearm. She didn’t think the little thing was breathing.
Two big blue eyes fluttered open and the child gave her a big smile. Her dad gasped, then pushed Bree aside and scooped the girl into his arms, blankets and all. She was pretty sure he was crying when she followed him from the room. She was close to tears, too. It had been an emotionally exhausting day.
A minute later, they were back in the sitting room. He laid the little form on a green velvet chaise lounge that looked like a Chippendale couch with a back and an arm on only one end. He tucked the girl’s blankets around her and then he picked up the furniture as if it and its passenger weighed nothing. He carried it closer to the fire and set it down. After he made sure the kid was smiling, Laird Gorgeous started tossing logs on the fire as if he didn’t care what it did to his budget. Only when the fire crackled and popped, did he notice Bree again.
“I thought she would need only blankets to keep warm.” He reached out and touched the child’s forehead again, then he grinned. “Better.” His gaze raised to Bree’s. “Thank ye.”
“No problem,” she said. But inside, she was jelly.
If he ever found a reason to smile at her that way, she’d follow him around like a puppy for the rest of her vacation. She might not return home with a lot of souvenirs, but she’d have one helluva happy thought in her pocket.
She thought about complimenting him on his costume, but that might be an insult if his frilly white necktie (or was that part of his shirt?) and tall boots were his idea of fashion.
“Where is her mom?”
He just shook his head.
She decided the woman must be either dead or blind if she wasn’t standing on the battlements to keep other women away from him. He was at least six four, maybe taller. She remembered how he’d filled up the doorway when the coachman had pushed her from behind. She was lucky he was busy staring at the underwear on her head so he hadn’t notice her staring—and panting—in his face.
His shoulders looked twice as wide as hers—the kind of guy that makes a girl feel small and vulnerable. His eyes were dark, his brows even darker, and his messy black hair went way past his shoulders. His face was the kind that belonged to quarterbacks and class presidents. The kind of guy that never noticed she was alive. And while he was busy not noticing her, she sucked up the sight of him like a girl dying of thirst, forced to drink through a straw.
His jaw was square, but the left corner was sharper than the other, like he’d had the right edge worn down by too many fist fights. And he was noticing her noticing.
Crap!
His look felt like he’d reached out and touched her face. A little chill ran up her spine and into her hair as she bent down next to the chaise, both to speak to the child and get her imagination under control.
“What’s your name?” Bree asked.
The girl just smiled.
“She doesna speak,” the man said.
Bree took a deep breath while that old feeling poured over her, through her, around her, but this time, it had nothing to do with the Scotsman. It had been a while since she’d felt it—the absolute rightness about the path she’d chosen for her life. If she was honest, she hadn’t felt it since she’d started dating David, the guy who always made her feel like she should be doing something else, something he might approve of, something that would make him look at her as if she was finally worthy of his interest.
She couldn’t believe she’d had to travel all the way to Scotland to feel it again.
Bree smiled at the girl. “Can you hear?” she asked.
The girl nodded. Bree patted her cheek and walked to the other side of the room, nodding for Laird Gorgeous to follow her. She was almost surprised when he did.
“Was she born mute? Or is it something else? Vocal chords?” Bree kept her voice low.
She’d crossed a line again. He was back to frowning at her.
Finally, he shook his head. “I know not.”
Okay, that was just messed up. What kind of doctors did they have in the Highlands, if they couldn’t even tell a guy why his daughter couldn’t speak?
“What do ye ken of vocal chords?” he asked.
“Kin?” She didn’t understand the word.
“Ken. To know. What does your sort know of vocal chords?”
He’d called her a sneak thief before. Apparently he hadn’t changed his mind about her. But she really couldn’t blame him. Everything that had happened to her that day was just insane, and if she was smart, she’d be suspecting everyone else’s motives too, including those of Laird Gorgeous. But she wasn’t feeling particularly smart at the moment, just a little emotional.
“Ever heard of American Sign Language? I teach deaf and mute children, okay? I’m not a sneak thief, whatever that means. I’m not a spy. I’m not some family services chick trying to catch you being a bad father.” Although, if she had been, he’d have been in trouble. “I teach children how to speak with their hands, sometimes with their actual voices. And I teach parents how to do the same. So cut me some slack. Move the couch back a little so your daughter doesn’t catch on fire, and try to be nice.”
He’d thanked her, right? He wouldn’t throw her out now, just because she was a little worn out and a little cranky. But then again, there was that American thing. For all she knew he’d toss her butt out just because she was a yank. The carriage driver wasn’t the only one to have called her that since her plane had landed.
All of a sudden, the man started chuckling. It was impossible for Bree not to smile at the deep rumble of it. He’d found something funny, and she was afraid Bree Colby was
that something. But even if he was laughing at her expense, she couldn’t very well march out his door in a huff, could she?
Then the chuckling opened up into loud laughter.
The girl was peeking over the back of the chaise. She was enjoying the sound too.
“Who sent you, madam?” He gasped for another breath. “The Man in the Moon? For I swear to you, I was just laying my complaints at his feet, promising all I have if he would only send someone to me who could help me speak with my new daughter.”
She stopped smiling. A tune flooded back into her head, and a little dirge about making deals with the moon. It was all just a little too eerie for her. And there had been a warning. What was the warning? About not liking the price or something? Something depressing, she was sure. In fact, apart from laying eyes on Laird Gorgeous, this whole day was a little too depressing for her taste, and she wasn’t going to face any more of it while standing on her feet.
As it turned out, her knees had been eavesdropping on her thoughts and took matters into their own hands. She watched as the floor started coming at her in slow motion. But then Laird Gorgeous was there, scooping her up, just like he’d done with his little girl.
He frowned again, then tossed her in the air and caught her again. The little girl clapped her hands, clearly enjoying the show. Bree tried to push away, but he squeezed her tight.
“You don’t weigh as much as I suspected, lass. Have you not eaten well? Would you like some food? Some mulled wine?”
“I’ll skip the wine, but I could eat. Apparently I’m not thinking too clearly, so the food would help; the wine would not.” She looked at his neck. It was much safer than looking at his lips, she thought, considering his little girl was watching, and she had yet to hear why his wife was not around. “Um. You can put me down now.”